


get back home

by sarcastically



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Fluff, M/M, frank is a struggling musician, gerard is the worst ufo driver, hesitant alien au, jamia is just tired of hearing frank complain ab gerard messing with his stuff, more tags will probably be added later, ray is infatuated with the idea of a real life alien
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:00:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4349750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastically/pseuds/sarcastically
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't often (or ever) that someone can say that they came in contact with a UFO crashing alien while looking for their dog in the middle of the night, but Frank Iero has never been one to be called ordinary.</p><p>// on hiatus</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Close Encounters of the Way Kind

They had met early in the morning, when it was dark and cold as shit outside. Frank was waddling through the seemingly endless cornfield near his house, trying to find his little runaway yip-yap dog that was more trouble than she was worth (not that Frank would ever admit such a thing out loud). Sweet Pea had gone sprinting off out of the backyard in the time it took Frank to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge, and he was more than aggravated when he realized she wasn't anywhere to be seen when he got back. So, he had grabbed his jacket and threw on his old sneakers and went stomping outside at 2:24 in the morning to look for her. He really, really loved that dog, God damn it, and he hoped that her little Sweet Pea pea brain knew that while her ass was adventuring out in the cold, wet, and a little more than creepy field.

“Sweet Pea!” he called out for the billionth time, cupping his hands around his mouth.

By some miracle, Frank tripped and fell through a thin clump of stalks and into the mud and was quickly greeted by something licking his ear. He pulled himself out of the mud with a gross suction noise, and hugged his dog tightly to his chest. Sweet Pea licked his hands while he slowly wobbled to his feet, grumbling to himself about his clothes, which were _definitely_ stained.

“Is that yours?” came a voice, high-pitched and loud against the near-deafening silence of the field.

“What the fuck?” Frank blurted out, feet slipping and sliding as he frantically whipped around to find who was speaking. “What the fuck?”

A tall, dainty looking man stood not that far away, his eyes as wide as the moon above them. He had pale skin that reminded Frank of a vampire, and bright orange hair that was swept out of his round face, and made a strange expression when Frank uttered his confusion again. The man brought his slightly muddy hands up to his chest and wrung them.

“I-ah-I'm Gerard,” the stranger finally spoke, never breaking eye contact, “Way. Gerard Way.”

“Well nice to meet you Gerard, but what the _fuck_ are you doing standing in a fucking cornfield in the middle of the night?” the shorter of the two asked irritably, still shaken up from being talked to by some random person in the middle of a field while he was looking for his dog. As Gerard shifted from one foot to the other, Frank caught what he thought was a sliver of blood on his face glimmer in the light. His heart sped up, and he honestly hoped that this Gerard Way guy wasn't a serial killer or something, and the more he thought about it, the more of a horror movie scenario it was becoming. He nervously ran his fingers through Sweet Pea's fur at this revelation.

“I could ask you what you were doing 'in a fucking cornfield in the middle of the night',” Gerard said with a downwards turn of his mouth, “but, I crashed my 'ship here, and I do not have fuel.”

“Ship?”

“Um, yes, my ship crashed over there,” he pointed over to where the stalks seemed to start thinning out, and Frank felt a little sick. There was absolutely _no_ God damn way that there was any sort of ship – UFO or actual boat – sitting over there. Frank didn't even realize that the peculiar ship crasher was still talking until he felt fingers pulling on the sleeve of his jacket and Gerard ordered quietly, “Come with.” 

He didn't know why he followed the taller man instead of running as fast as he could back home, or why Sweet Pea was so quiet when normally she would be trying to gnaw her owner's arms off. A breath caught in his throat when they reached the landing site, and Frank felt a little faint if he was being honest. 

The field had been torn away, the soil rutted deep and ugly. A large, metallic-looking saucer was stuck right at the ending of it, clearly having slammed hard into the ground because some of the bulbs positioned around the ship's edge were busted and glimmering in the mud like diamonds. The other bulbs, however, were still flashing red and orange like emergency lights against the darkness of their surroundings. The whole thing seemed to hum and vibrate Frank to the core, and it made his stomach do flips. Gerard touched one of the broken lights with a soft grunt of something that could be annoyance – Frank couldn't tell anymore, the-the _alien_ didn't show any emotion other than hesitance and confusion when facing him.

“How're you going to get home? _Where_ is home? Why did you crash _here_ of all places?” the tattooed man rambled, words stumbling out of his mouth like water out of a broken dam.

Gerard turned to him with a curious expression that made Frank increasingly uncomfortable. “Oh! Home! My home planet is called Lolamium,” he said with a sideways grin, “it's not as far from here as you'd think. I was coming to observe Eart life–“

“Earth, not Eart,” Frank said quietly, offering a small smile which got him a big crooked one in response.

“Earth! Observe _Earth_ life, because my brother was reading to me about it and I finally got my outer space license!” the alien chimed, whipping an obscenely shiny holographic card out of his suit pocket before frowning slightly. “I don't know how I'm going to get home; I barely have enough emergency energy to last until sunrise, and I'm not sure if my pocket transmitter can connect to Lolamium from here,”

“You can come stay with me if you want,” Frank blurted out as he tightened his grip on Sweet Pea. Wait, what the fuck? Where did that come from, why was he inviting this alien from fucking Lolamaniumum to his house? Oh God, he couldn't take it back now with Gerard beaming at him like that. Great.

• • •

After an hour and a half of awkwardly stumbling back home in almost complete silence, Frank threw the shabby back door open and flicked on the kitchen light. He slowly sat Sweet Pea down before turning around to fully face Gerard again. A long, thin cut laid diagonally across his cheek, stopping just below his right eye. It had already scabbed over, but a smear of dried blood gave Frank the clue that it had probably happened when he had crashed.

“Do you need something to wipe the blood off your face with?” Frank nervously asked, busying himself by wetting a paper towel to clean himself up with.

“Blood?” Gerard repeated, touching his face tentatively and checking his fingers afterwards.

“Uh, yeah...” Frank trailed off, slowly reaching up to dab at the taller man's face with a paper towel.

Gerard tensed up immediately, his eyes growing wide. _I fucked up, I fucked up._ Frank pulled back as fast as he could, his heart racing in his chest. This wasn't how he wanted to die. He took a brief moment to visualize the fact that the alien could _totally_ have a ray gun and could totally just obliterate his internal organs right then and there. Then what would happen? Sweet Pea would be an orphan, and he'd be on one of those mysteries in history shows because no one could figure out how he died. His heart slowed a little bit when Gerard gently took the towel from him and wiped the remainder of the blood off before giving it back. 

By then, the soft pinks and oranges of dawn had begun to paint the sky outside, and the green led clock on the stove read that it was currently 5:48a.m. It was like just reading that made Frank want to pass out, and he began to realize how heavy he felt. Gerard seemed to be in a similar state, light colored eyes half lidded as he hugged himself tight. The shorter of the two slipped off his sneakers and beckoned for the other to follow him as he padded into the living room.

Frank moved the throw pillows off of his couch and replaced them with a softer, baby blue pillow from his recliner. He took a second to stare at the couch and how the almost obnoxious sea-foam green colored cushions looked better paired with the blue pillow than the coral pink pillows that Ray had insisted matched. 

With a sigh of exasperation, Frank gathered the quilt that was messily bunched up and balancing between the wall and the couch, and turned around to give it to Gerard. “You can sleep on the couch.”

“Oh. Okay,” Gerard shrugged, kicking his shoes off before sitting down hesitantly. “Thank you, Frank.”

Frank didn't reply, he just practically dragged himself down the hallway and to his room. It was kind of hard to drag your feet on carpet without them starting to burn in like .2 seconds, but Frank was way too tired to make any effort of actually walking. He opened his bedroom door, wincing at how it's hinges pretty much screamed as he did so. 

The house wasn't in too good of shape, but wasn't in too bad of shape either, in his opinion. He had expected it to be a lot worse because of the low price, but was pleasantly surprised to note that there was only one hole in the floor (which he had covered up with a plank of wood he had found in the hall closet) and the roof only leaked when it was raining hard. There were other disadvantages, however, like the shitty back door with the screen he had to put back in at least seven times, or the mysterious hole in his bathroom wall that he stuffed a towel into, or the fact that if you stepped on a certain place in the kitchen you could feel the floor bend under your weight. At least the outside of the house didn't look too bad, with it's neutral colors and classy cinder block step outside of the door.

Frank sighed as he relaxed back on the bed, kicking his gross, dirty jeans off into the pile of other gross, dirty jeans on his floor. He rolled fully onto the bed and pressed his face into his pillow, genuinely wishing that Gerard was asleep and not snooping around his house or something. He couldn't worry too much, however, because it wasn't long before he finally dozed off to the sound of birds chirping outside of his window.


	2. Attack of the Living Guitar

"How do you know my name?"

Maybe that wasn't the best way to wake up someone who had his mouth open so wide he probably swallowed a billion and three spiders within the last hour, but the thought had made Frank jolt out of bed. The alien jerked as if he was hit, and his eyes snapped open like he was about to beat someone's ass, so Frank took a few steps back.

"What." It wasn't really a question, more of an angry vent.

"You said my name earlier, and I didn't even tell you it." Frank frowned, sitting cross-legged on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Gerard slowly sat up, the springs of the couch groaning as he did so, and squinted against the afternoon sun that was seeping through the curtains. His once neat (if you could call it that) hair looked more like a giant rats nest that was on fire, his dress shirt was rumpled and slightly crooked, and a vague trail of drool had began to dry on the corner of his mouth. He drew in a deep breath and scrubbed his face with his hands before turning towards Frank, his eyes still squinted and his nose scrunched up.

"You look like a Frank," he finally answered, shrugging one shoulder as if it was nothing.

"Bullshit!" Frank snorted, hitting the coffee table with one of his hands when he did so. "Can you like, read auras or some shit?"

Gerard shot him a peculiar and pursed his lips. "I just know things."

"What kind of answer is _that_?" Frank frowned irritably, crossing his arms as he watched the other wobble to his feet.

Gerard shrugged again, and Frank could _not_ believe it. He could not believe that this alien - who would probably still be wondering around the gross ass, muddy field if it wasn't for his generosity – was _sassing_ him. Frank watched in a moment of slack-jawed disbelief as the alien busied himself with touching all of the things on the living room walls.

"What's this?" Gerard questioned, poking at the strings of a guitar, which was hanging precariously from a makeshift wall mount Frank had thrown together when he was in one of his “let's do shit at 2:30 a.m.” moods. The alien jumped back when it made a noise, nearly falling over one of the recliners and landing on his back.

Frank let out a howl of laughter at the look of utter terror on Gerard's face. He was crouched on the ground like a scared little kid, his arms clutching at the bottoms of his pants legs and his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. Frank felt a tiny sliver of pity afterwards and reached out to pat Gerard on the shoulder.

"It was trying to get me, Frank," Gerard whimpered in such a serious tone it made Frank want to laugh again.

"No it wasn't, it's a guitar," Frank soothed with a grin, getting up from the coffee table to grab it, "it's supposed to make noise like that!"

Gerard jumped again when the guitar rang out, this time clutching Frank's arm with both of his hands. He sort of looked like a deer in the headlights and his lip quivered a little bit when he looked up at the other man from his awkward position of half-crouching and half-lunging on the floor. "What if it gets me?"

"It won't get you, it's a guitar," Frank sighed, twisting around to face the taller man. "It doesn't have arms or legs or a mouth or anything, Gerard; it can't move and _cannot get you_." He strummed out a few chords of some Led Zeppelin song that was probably permanently imprinted in his brain, and quirked an eyebrow when he looked back to the alien.

He had his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth open slightly, and for a moment Frank thought he was just sleeping with his eyes open. Gerard quickly snapped out of it, however, and sat back on his knees with a curious expression. Frank cringed when he realized the question that was about to come out of Gerard's mouth. "Can I try?" 

In that moment, he swore that maybe alien's bodies matured faster than their minds, because he sounded just like those little kids Frank's mom would make him babysit as a teenager ("It builds character, Frankie," she would sigh as she turned to look at him with her arms crossed, "someday you'll have a wife and kids, and you'll need to know this stuff!"). He bit back a laugh at the thought. _Wife and kids, my gay ass._

Nonetheless, Frank gave the guitar to Gerard, who immediately strummed it as hard as he could before grinning in a very proud, self appreciative way. He had his fingers on the strings, but clearly wasn't pressing hard enough, so the darker haired man shifted forward and firmly held the ginger's fingers down with his own. Gerard strummed again and wiggled in delight, and Frank couldn't help but let out a laugh.

It was kind of like babysitting, without all of the crying and whining for mothers who were out doing "girl stuff" or whatever their excuses were. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be too bad, and his impulse to take Gerard in was a better idea than he thought.

• • •

Right in the middle of Frank pulling his jeans on with one hand, shakily holding a cup of coffee with the other, and talking to Ray over the phone about the possibility of sneeple infiltrating the American government, the gunfire-like sound of clattering metal made him jump nearly out of his skin. He ditched his phone, not even caring to hang up, and stumbled out of his room as fast as a person could with their pants halfway up their thighs. His heart probably flat-lined right then and there when he reached the kitchen to find all of his pots and pans floating in midair.

"Gerard..." Frank started cautiously, his breath hitching in his throat as he slowly sat his coffee down and tugged his pants the rest of the way up.

Gerard turned to look at him, his hazel eyes big and intriguing and almost glowing. He had one of his hands held out in front of him, and when he lowered it, everything instantly slammed back down to the tile floor.

"My apologies, Frank," he said quickly, rubbing his hand up and down his arm as he stared at all of the abandoned cookware.

"How did you do that?" Frank breathed in amazement, his fingers still hooked in his belt loops.

Gerard didn't reply, but instead tried to run his fingers through his hair only to hit knots and give up halfway through. He began gathering some of the pots and pans in his arms and cramming them into the wrong cabinet. Not that Frank cared, at least he was picking up his mess, unlike most of his friends who seemed to believe that messes cleaned themselves up. There were too many hangover-ridden days where Frank had to clean up what seemed like hundreds of cheap beer cans while holding a bag of ice to his head, left with nothing but a text saying something along the lines of "sry, had 2 go, ill make it up 2 you" - not that they ever made it up to him.

Frank left him to clean and rushed back to his bedroom to text an apology to Ray, only to find out that he hadn't hung up yet.

"Hey," Frank greeted, rubbing his face as he did so.

"Wow, glad to see you made it out of that tunnel okay," Ray joked with a short giggle, and Frank grinned.

"Yeah, I got a little distracted," he dismissed, "little dogs like to make big messes, y'know."

"Yeah, well while you were putting your dog daughter in time out, I got a text about that show at Nightlights," Ray chimed happily, "they said that they got everything fixed, so you guys can still play Friday night!"

Frank's heart flat-lined for the fourth time that day. The _band_. The _show_. What was he going to do with Gerard while he was performing? He couldn't just leave him home alone; he'd probably burn the house down somehow or break the toaster because he thought it was going to attack him. It's not like he could take him to the club either – like yeah, there were a lot of weirdos who would say shit like "I'm from a different planet" and people would just brush it off as a cokehead or something, but he didn't want the alien to freak out about strobe lights or amps or get too handsy with someone on accident and get the fuck beat out of him.

"Earth to Frank Iero, do you copy?"

"I copy, I copy," Frank grumbled, leaning against his dresser and staring at his reflection in the mirror. "I think you should come over, we need to talk about... something."

**Author's Note:**

> not too sure what i'm doing, but i hope it's good. i haven't wrote in, like, forever due to writer's block.


End file.
